


glass room, perfume, cognac, lilac fumes

by unveils



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Jesse "Gets Turned On By Danger" McCree, M/M, Playboy Genji Shimada, They Can't Not Flirt It Will Kill Them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 04:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14371125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unveils/pseuds/unveils
Summary: “Real kind of you to take me under your wing like this, but I have to tell you that it’s not necessary. Your lot’s been far too kind to me already -- I was just out for a casual drink tonight, s’all.”Genji offers him a smile smile. “You’ll find out very quickly that I don’t do many things I don’t already wish to, Mr. McCree.”





	glass room, perfume, cognac, lilac fumes

The club is one of the island’s only notable establishments not owned by his father, which in and of itself makes it cheap and outdated. Businesses like this are allowed to exist on the fringes of Hanamura so long as they fall underneath its unofficial law, succumb whenever necessary to the the underlying truth of it: that even when these people are making their own money, whatever they have is still  _ owned  _ by the clan. 

He doesn’t need the falsified glimmer of shine that the clubs hugging the outside of the compound have to offer tonight, and he certainly doesn’t want it. Even from his position of relative social isolation, Genji knows that cheap and outdated when held in comparison does not always mean cheap and outdated on its own. Even here, they know how to put on a show. A thousand flutters of neon pink light spill from holes in the ceiling, the soft rush of music reverberating off the plates of metal that line the walls. Girls sway in colorful costumes on stages lifted several feet off the ground, piles of bills pooling into the pockets of the men who stand at the foot of them. 

It’s almost like home. 

The club is one of the island’s only notable establishments not owned by his father, and still Genji feels him like a phantom weight across his shoulders. Even here, where names are intended to be hushed to dulcets set for party shadows, fingertips brush over his forearms with intention too frequently for there to be any mistake. He moves through crowds and collects makeup-heavy eyes and pursed lips like they are party favors, invitations. Despite what his brother thinks, insists, Genji is no fool -- he knows what all he is good for to most of these people.  

_ When will you grow up?  _ Hanzo likes to ask him, like there’s some part of this puzzle Genji isn’t getting.  _ When will you act like who you are instead of some spoiled child? _

Only it is Hanzo who doesn’t see -- Genji can play charades as well as his brother, fit any array of masks over his face for the good of the family, and frequently, he does. There are no faceless names here in a place so small, so corrupt. Every hand settled atop his thigh, every set of eyelashes fluttered comes with an expectation, but Genji gives them nothing, only takes, teasing himself unbearably thin and sticky-sweet between each set of hands. 

His interest in the clan’s business is an entirely different story, but he supposes his motivations will come later. For now, he guards himself while he does as he pleases, while he does what makes this whole life even remotely  _ bearable,  _ and is that not enough? Is he not giving up enough?

Genji understands more than Hanzo thinks, about family.

He’s slick with sweat, flooded by a crowd of people in the middle of the dance floor when he notices the hat as it sticks on the head of a patron at the bar, far too out of place and far too familiar for Genji to mistake. The woman before him presses forward to meet his sudden, delighted laughter, half catching it on his lips as she leans close to whisper something that he doesn’t quite catch over the music. He lets his eyes linger steady on McCree’s figure at the bar for half a moment before an arm behind him settles thick around his waist, pulling his attention.

After a few dances, things start to blend together. Faces, songs, the way this bar differentiates at all from what he knows so well. As always, his drink empties, and his interest runs stale. He makes his way to the bar where McCree is still standing, looking a bit flustered and still as out of place as he did when he walked in. Genji offers him a smile, tapping the bar twice and waving the bartender’s attention, even as he begins to speak, leaning close into McCree’s space to make up for the music that’s still pounding around him. “I had no idea my father’s business with you required your presence at such establishments.” 

Once he’s given his drink order, and another one for McCree, he cocks his head in teasing. “Or perhaps you’ve finally decided to take me up on my offer to show you the joys of our island.”

McCree seems to hesitate before leaning into Genji’s space in kind, cupping a hand to fall around his ear to make sure he’s heard, which is entirely endearing. “Well, you’ve seen one of these places, you’ve seen them all.” 

By the way his eyes dance around the place like he’s not sure where is safe enough to put his next step, Genji doubts he’s seen much of  _ anything  _ like this. Of course there’s something uniquely ironic in that, that this is the one thing about their home that none of the guards or diplomatic agents -- not even Hanzo -- can show McCree. He’s used to sitting idly at his father’s business meetings as the dutiful son for only as long as strictly necessary, never opting to truly involve himself in clan affairs, but the tables have turned. 

Genji downs his drink as soon as gets it, something sour and small, and grabs ahold of the whiskey he’d ordered for McCree. Voice still hoarse from the way the shot burns down his throat, he says, “I’m sure I could still find a way to surprise you.” 

He’s not sure if McCree catches the full of the innuendo this time, or just doesn’t know how to respond to it, by the way he looks. 

Endearing, Genji thinks again. 

He shakes his head and takes one of McCree’s hands in his own, a loose grip to show him that he’s playful, simply guiding and not directing, and gestures towards the row of private lounges on the second floor. McCree nods, that familiar flush on his face, and Genji pulls him through the crowd, stuffing whatever handful of sweaty bills he has in his pocket into the hands of the first bouncer he sees. 

They’re lead into a room with bright walls and dim lights. A different song plays over these speakers, something slower and far more quiet. There’s an ice bucket holding champagne settled on top of a glass table situated in front of a velvet couch, and Genji only drops his hold on McCree’s hand to sit. He makes McCree’s choices easy even after that, grabbing ahold of the bottle opener with a smile. “I’m afraid the fun will have to wait until after the alcohol is actually open. Popping a cork in any fanciful way was one party trick I never learned.”  

It’s not true, but it seems to relax him. There’s grace in McCree’s movements, but it’s a thin veneer -- forced, mechanical, lathered sloppily over top of everything like an afterthought. Genji knows movement, if nothing else, and McCree’s are that of a nervous schoolboy. Still, he sits, meeting Genji’s eyes and matching his smile with one even grander. “Real kind of you to take me under your wing like this, but I have to tell you that it’s not necessary. Your lot’s been far too kind to me already -- I was just out for a casual drink tonight, s’all.” 

“You’ll find out very quickly that I don’t do many things I don’t already wish to, Mr. McCree.” It’s petty, maybe -- petulant -- but Genji won’t have McCree making any assumptions about his intentions and how they align with those of his father. He leans back against the plush of the couch, taking a dizzying sip of champagne straight from the bottle. “If anything, you will be entertaining me for the evening. It’s not often we get such colorful visitors, and even less often that my father has any business with them at all.” 

Genji sighs something melodramatic and audible, his smile growing coyish, teasing. “We run a very boring operation, my family, to tell you the truth.” 

If there are charades to be played tonight, it seems that now is the moment McCree finally understands the rules of them. He sets his glass down on the table, leaning back against the couch himself. “I find that very hard to believe, with you around.” 

Genji laughs, bright and delighted by the attempt at flattery -- far more true to what Genji would consider a genuine compliment than McCree could know. “I suppose you might.” He waves his hand with the bottle still in it, a noncommittal gesture to paint the reply he gives. “It is my brother who is often involved with business dealings. He does not trust me with others, though has remarkably little experience with social events himself outside of the clan. Charming others through words is not something Hanzo values very much.” 

It’s enough of a truth to be satisfying, Genji supposes. He watches McCree process the information, but lets himself fill the silence before McCree can ask anything more. “Your Japanese is surprisingly good, for an American. Have you spent much time away from home?” 

“Enough to wonder where home really is, sometimes.” McCree huffs, and Genji believes that. 

“Your accent could use some work, still.” He says, in English, his smile a pointed, teasing barb. “Perhaps if you consider spending less time on the compound, I could help you practice.” 

“No hope of running into you while I’m on my way to bed, then?” McCree offers back, just as teasing. “Bummer.” 

Genji laughs, low. “Doubtful. Are your pajamas as bad as your casual wear?”

“Hey, now. What was that earlier? I’m bringing you nothing but flavor here, sugar.” After a beat, McCree’s smile grows edges, and Genji sees them. “Suppose we should make the best of the time we have now, then?” 

He lets McCree make the first move, despite the obvious, weighted  innuendo his words carry. McCree reaches across the space between them, settling a hand on Genji’s thigh. For it, Genji raises an eyebrow, exaggerating the contemplative silence between them for how McCree’s cheeks are still flushed, even after everything. It’s a tease, just as everything else is, and within moments, seconds, Genji is smiling back with edges just as sharp. He closes the distance between them, lifting McCree’s hand off of his thigh to bring it to his mouth -- a kiss, delicate, to the worn knuckle of Mccree’s trigger finger. 

The following exhale is sharp and genuine in how unraveled it sounds. Genji moves, fluid, and settles himself atop McCree’s lap, knees falling to box him into the soft of the couch on either side. McCree leans forward with intent, eyes glassy and lips parted, but Genji catches him with a hand to his throat just before their lips truly meet in a kiss. There’s a slur of curses that flood the small amount of space still between them, and Genji can feel the hot breath behind them as McCree speaks, warming him. “Should’ve known you’d be a tease,” McCree says, still nosing forward against the hand, lips brushing against Genji’s as he speaks, but he’s smiling, letting his hands fall in surrender to Genji’s hips. 

_ Yes,  _ Genji thinks, but opts for action, letting their lips brush together -- fleeting, brief -- and sliding his hand free of McCree’s throat, down his front. He’s wearing kevlar underneath his button-up, hidden just barely by the natural way McCree squares his shoulders when he walks. Genji hums, pushing ever-forward into his space until he’s pressed fully against the couch. “Expecting something else, Mr. McCree?” 

“Can call me Jesse, sweetheart. Figure we’re at that point.” He rasps, in reply. “My boss said y’all Shimadas were a rowdy bunch. Better to be prepared, right?” 

“Rowdy,” Genji echoes, laughing, and leans forward to kiss him.  _ Jesse  _ melts underneath his tongue, sweet and warm and decidedly malleable, for now. Genji sucks his bottom lip between teeth, the barest hint of a reminder. McCree falls open against Genji’s mouth, groaning appreciative, hands moving to stroke over his back, his ass. 

He rocks down into those hands, letting McCree feel the full of his weight beneath the layer of the clothes and armor that still separate them. If Genji thought he’d seen Jesse flustered at the bar, it’s nothing compared to the way he looks now, falling apart so readily at Genji’s direction. 

“Is that why you’re here, Jesse?” Genji lets his hand drift further down, to McCree’s pants. “Because of what you  _ heard? _ ”

McCree’s humming into his mouth before Genji’s even finished his sentence, but he seems to get the full weight behind it by the time they reach the end. His eyes fly open, hands flailing (no grace, no grace) to his back for the pistol Genji already has. He’s fast, but Genji’s faster, dragging the barrel of it underneath McCree’s chin and flicking the safety off. 

“Motherfuck,” McCree breathes, panicked and -- something else, very quickly. Genji shifts his hips, and raises an eyebrow. 

“Careful with that, sweetheart, careful, do you even --” He licks his lips. “You know how to use a gun? Don’t wanna lose any important parts while we’re playing around, huh?”  

“We’ve played long enough, I think.” Genji says, firmly, in English. “Did you truly think you could infiltrate a yakuza compound under a flimsy, vague black ops guise and not get noticed? Dressed like  _ that?  _ Your stealth tactics could use work.” 

McCree looks like someone kicked him, but like he knows he should’ve expected it. His mouth is a hard line all of the sudden, and Genji wonders if he knows how much he mirrors a pouting child like this. 

“You don’t have to do this,” He says, voice cold. “Your family’s full of fucking criminals. You don’t owe them anything. Definitely didn’t have to do the full song and dance for little ol’ me.” 

He’s right, and Genji’s mood sours to match the look on McCree’s face. He hates how clunky the gun feels in his hand, and craves the familiar feeling of a knife, something pointed and cold and decisive. “What do you want?”

McCree snorts, incredulous. He looks at Genji, hard, and forces himself to relax enough to bite out, “You don’t know what you’re doing. If you really wanted to know, you  _ would’ve  _ taken me to your father. Bet you  _ don’t  _ know how to use that, just some pretty boy sidepiece to--”

Genji fires a shot into one of the velvet pillows next to McCree’s knee and he flinches, hard, caught in a bluff. “Alright,” He concedes. “Alright. _Alright._ ” He has to recollect himself again. “We’re just here for information. Files on your dad’s partners, shit like that. Your family’s not even our primary target.” 

“And why should I believe that?” 

“I believed  _ you _ .” 

Genji watches him for a cool, hard moment. McCree watches him back. 

Finally, he says, “After tonight, you are going to leave. You are going to board the first plane out of here. You will not return to the compound to collect your things. I will tell my father you’ve decided you’re not interested in doing business with him, after all.” Genji drives the gun up hard. “You’ll leave us alone.” 

“Fine.” Jesse bites. “Didn’t wanna be here much longer anyway.” 

Genji laughs at that, genuine, shifting his weight atop McCree again, feeling where he’s still half-hard underneath him. “Is that so? I thought we were having a nice time, Jesse.” 

His expression darkens. “Catchin’ a man with his pants down doesn’t count towards the scoreboard.” 

“Poor loser,” Genji chides, emptying the gun of bullets and setting it back on the table behind him. 

“ _ Cheater _ .” McCree retorts _._

He rolls off of McCree and picks the discarded champagne bottle back up from where it’s been leaking onto the couch, taking a long sip off the top of it while McCree pulls himself off the couch in a huff, taking time to turn away from Genji before adjusting himself in his pants. He grabs the gun off the table before he leaves the room, offering Genji only a single, fleeting glance and a handful of seconds where it looks like he might say something meaningful. Instead, he says, "See you around, Shimada." 

Genji saves him the trouble of a proper goodbye, offering a small wave and that same, coy grin around the mouth of a bottle. 

It’s years before they’ll see each other again, neither of them as young or naive. 

**Author's Note:**

> trashy and cliche fandom tropes? ME??? yeah maybe so. insp from a convo with jess about how lana always reminds her of baby genj vibes which i think is a sentence the military should utilize as a weapon of a mass destruction against ME specifically. also, if you're wondering, gabe absolutely TOLD mccree this wasn't a honeypot mission (because those aren't real) but........ sometimes.......... your dick....... is right....... and your boss is wrong. or you're just wrong and horny. whatever. get on the dropship mccree


End file.
